Hold It

When I try to hold it,

Gather it,

It slips

It always slips.

It isn't tangible; it's not solid

There has to be a reason

I feel emptier at home

So full of love

But draining

My anxiety is punctuated

By phrases

"You should start running again"

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

My body becomes heavy

With doubt-

Apprehension.

The weight of emptiness

Is considerable

So I grasp it.

I pull

I heave

It slips-

I reach again